Love and Hope

by Kayla Perrin

  She dozed for a bit, not too long, because the angle of the sun’s rays hadn’t changed much when she awakened.

  Blake was watching her. He smiled. “You’re a quiet sleeper.”

  “Was I asleep for long?”

  “Not sure. I napped, too.”

  She ran her hand from his shoulder down his arm, tracing the hard cords of his muscles. His entire body was like this. Cowboy tough. She couldn’t get enough of looking at him. Touching him.

  As she skimmed her hand over his butt, he stopped her. “Hang on darlin’. That’s going to lead you someplace I don’t think either of us is ready to go again. At least not yet.”

  She nuzzled the space between his neck and his shoulder. “Why not … ?”

  “Cause there’s something I need to ask you first.”

  Her heart started racing. She pulled herself up, so she could see his face.

  “Will you marry me, Shelby?”

  Despite what she’d learned in science class Shelby knew there were moments the Earth stopped rotating. This was one of them.

  Her first instinct was to blurt out “Yes!” But this was important and she needed to be one hundred percent sure of him. She stared into his eyes and saw his earnest yearning. “I love you Blake, but isn’t this moving a little fast?”

  “Way I figure it, I’m already six years behind with a lot to make up for. What do you say Shel? Do you feel the same way?”

  “You’re sure this isn’t a knee-jerk reaction to your grandma being sick?”

  “Grams’ cancer has made me appreciate life is short and you need to grab your happiness when you can. But I think I’ve known forever you were the woman for me.”

  Intense joy took root deep in Shelby’s heart. These were the words she’d needed to hear. “I’ve loved you forever, too. Even when I didn’t know it. Blake I’d be honored to be your wife.”

  Epilogue

  A Year Later

  As a girl Shelby had dreamed of getting married on her family’s ranch. She was going to ride down the aisle on Nancy Drew, and her dogs and cats were going to be sitting in the pews.

  This was not how it worked out.

  In Shelby’s real-life wedding all the people she loved were present in the garden behind her family home. The scent of lavender was in the air as she took her father’s arm. With her other hand she carried a bouquet of myrtle, lily-of-the-valley, sweet William and hyacinth, lovingly assembled by Louise that very morning.

  As she began walking on the lush carpet of green grass toward the handsome cowboy who was waiting for her, she could hear her mother’s gentle sniffing. Both of her parents were so pleased about the match, which truly was the icing on the cake. She locked her gaze with the man she’d loved since she was a teenager, praying she wouldn’t stumble. And she didn’t.

  She could feel the love and support of their family members and close friends around her. Kelli-Jo Calhoun—now pregnant with Harvey’s second child—had not been invited.

  Kayla was present, of course, as Shelby’s maid of honor. She’d warmed up considerably to Blake over the past year, and her boyfriend Dillon was Blake’s best man.

  The ceremony was lovely. Short. Simple. Sweet. Shelby and Blake said their own vows and there wasn’t a dry eye among their guests. In fact, other than lots of tears, there were no other water works. The weather held beautifully for the barbecue buffet and there was no need to use the outdoor tent that had been set up in the event of rain.

  Later, as she and Blake had their first waltz together. She nuzzled his neck, and whispered, “Do you think he’ll come?”

  “He said he would. But if he doesn’t, the day will still have been perfect.”

  She smiled at her new husband. What he said was true. But the day would be more perfect if Blake’s plan came together.

  *

  “Are you happy, Grams?” Blake asked Louise as he led her to the dance floor.

  In the past year her hair had started growing back. She now wore it in a saucy, short style that reflected her zest for life.

  Best of all, as of her last check up she was still in remission. He hoped it would stay that way. He’d stopped trying to get her to see other doctors and try alternative therapies. He had to accept Grams knew what was best for her own health. She was a strong woman, and he loved her for that.

  “Blake, this is probably the happiest day of my life. I always thought you and Shelby would be perfect together.”

  He grinned. “So I did good marrying her?”

  “Oh, my, yes.”

  “Glad to hear it. Just keep thinking what an upstanding grandson I am … and don’t get too mad at what’s about to happen next.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “I tracked him down, Grams. Invited him to the wedding. And it looks like he’s just shown up.”

  She stopped in her tracks. He could feel her muscles tense. Slowly, she turned around and saw who Blake was talking about.

  A tall, distinguished man had just stepped up to the dance floor. He looked to be around seventy-years-old, in good health, with sharp eyes, a kind smile—and a dimple in his chin.

  “What have you done?” his grandmother murmured.

  Before Blake could explain, the man was in front of them, taking her hands.

  “Louise? Do you mind that I’m here?”

  She shook her head, eyes tearing. “How did Blake find you?”

  “It wasn’t hard. After my wife died I had my daughter create a Facebook profile for me. Just in case you ever tried to get in touch. I’ve been waiting five years. And then Blake Timber made me a friend request. And I knew you’d told him.”

  “All these years … you knew about Blake?”

  “And about Jennifer. And the accident. I’m so sorry, Louise, about that.” He gave a tender smile. “We have so much to catch up on. But I’d like to officially meet my grandson first.”

  Walt Nesbitt offered his hand to Blake then, and Blake happily shook it.

  “What a fine young man you turned out to be. I followed every step of your rodeo career. Now I understand you’ve taken up ranching?”

  “I sure have. It’s so good to meet you. I’d like to introduce you to my wife as well.” He gestured for Shelby to join them. Since the dance with her father had ended, she’d been watching the entire exchange, with her hands clasped to her heart.

  After that, there were more introductions, more explanations, and a lot more dancing.

  Around midnight, Blake was on the sidelines watching Grams and her beau moving together in a slow waltz, when Shelby came up beside him and rested her head against his shoulder.

  “What do you say, cowboy? Have you got one more dance in you?”

  “As if I could ever say no to you.” He slipped his arms around her—how right she felt there—and led her to the dance floor. For a moment he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “I never did believe that saying—that good could from bad—but after this year, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “How so?”

  “Grams getting cancer seemed like the most terrible thing that could happen a year ago. But now here she is, dancing with her first and only love. I wonder if that would have happened if she hadn’t gotten sick.”

  Shelby followed his gaze, and smiled at the obviously smitten older couple. “They’re sweet together. I’m so happy for Louise.”

  “Me, too. But I’m even happier for us.”

  She tilted her head. “Are you truly? You don’t miss the rodeo at all?”

  “Not a bit.” He tightened his hold on his wife. “I feel so damn lucky right now.”

  “You’re not just feeding me a line are you, cowboy?” She grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

  “It’s not a line if I mean it. And this cowboy means every word.” He captured her lips in a tender kiss, showing her just how devoted he was.

&
nbsp; They continued to dance long after the sun went down, and the stars brightened the sky. Today had been perfect. And he’d never felt more alive as he did with his wife in his arms. His wife. Now that made him more excited than any rodeo ever could. And he just knew that his marriage to Shelby was going to be the ride of his life.

  About the Author

  C. J. Carmichael

  USA Today Bestselling author C. J. Carmichael has written more than 45 novels in her favorite genres of romance and mystery and has been nominated three times for the Romance Writers of America RITA Award.

  When not writing C. J. enjoys family time with her grown daughters and her husband, hiking in the Rocky Mountains around their home in Calgary, and relaxing at their cottage on Flathead Lake, Montana.

  For more information and a complete book list please visit C. J. online:

  http://CJCarmichael.com/

  https://www.facebook.com/authorcjcarmichael/

  twitter: @cj_carmichael

  Her Angel

  Kayla Perrin

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Joanna D’Angelo and LeeAnn Lessard of Lachesis Publishing for inviting me to take part in this wonderful anthology. And thank you to my fellow authors, C. J. Carmichael and Brenda Gayle. Your stories shine a light of love and hope.

  Dedication

  For Annette, my friend, who recently lost her battle with breast cancer. Her bright smile, warmth, and goofy nature will be missed by all those who knew her and loved her, especially by her two young daughters, who will feel this loss the most.

  Annette, you’re their angel now. Shine brightly, my friend.

  Chapter 1

  Tasia Montgomery’s hands were immersed in a bowl of crushed tomatoes when Chloe, the restaurant manager, approached her in the kitchen. “Tasia, there’s a call for you.”

  Tasia frowned. Who would be trying to reach her on the restaurant phone? Everyone knew not to call her here unless it was an emergency.

  Unless … of course. The answer came to her almost immediately. Rodney. Her ex. He must have grown tired of her ignoring him and had now resorted to calling her at work.

  Although Tasia and Rodney had broken up four months ago, he’d suddenly started calling her over the last week. The calls had come as a surprise to Tasia, as had his pleas to give him another chance.

  As if that was going to happen! He hadn’t actually cheated on her—at least he claimed that he hadn’t—but her trust in him had forever been broken. When Tasia had run into him at a café with another woman—with his hand on her knee—that was the end of their relationship. Oh, Rodney had protested that it was just a date, that Tasia had been too busy for him so he’d made a mistake but hadn’t crossed a line, but Tasia hadn’t believed him. Not then, and not in his subsequent calls and texts.

  “Can you take a message?” Tasia asked.

  “I tried,” Chloe said. “But the woman said it’s urgent.”

  Tasia frowned. Woman? Her mom? One of her friends? Rodney feigning a female voice?

  “All right—tell whoever it is I’ll be right there.”

  “You can take the extension in the office,” Chloe said.

  “Talk about bad timing,” Tasia mumbled under her breath as she dried her tomato-stained hands on a dish towel. She was in the middle of prepping the base tomato sauce for dinner and she didn’t have time to spare. It was a Friday, their busiest day. Tasia was one of three chefs at Illuminate, an Italian restaurant in midtown Atlanta, that was a local and tourist favorite. Known for its variety of freshly made pasta dishes and specialty house sauces, it was one of the most popular eateries in the city.

  Since she’d graduated from culinary school almost ten years ago, Tasia had worked all over Atlanta, gaining as much experience as she could, starting out in food prep and working her way up the ladder as she’d moved from restaurant to restaurant. Atlanta was known as a culinary hot-spot and when she’d landed the job at Illuminate three years ago, she knew it would be a good move for her.

  At the age of thirty-one, she was right on track with her ten-year plan. She would work at Illuminate for another two years and then she would start looking for a top chef position. After that, she hoped to open her own place.

  When Rodney had complained that she was spending less time with him, he’d been right. How could she let herself get sidetracked by a man when he wasn’t even The One?

  Tasia was determined to focus on her culinary passions first, and then look for love. Unfortunately, she’d witnessed women letting their dreams and lives fall apart because they’d put their relationships first—including her mother—whose own marriage had failed. Tasia didn’t want to end up like that, especially not because of men like Rodney. She was going to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he had to stop calling her.

  Tasia made her way into the office. The blinking red light indicated which call was on hold. With an exasperated sigh, she lifted the receiver.

  “Hello?” Her irritation was obvious. She expected to hear Rodney’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hello, darling. I’m so sorry to call you at work.” Darling … The voice sounded somewhat familiar, but Tasia couldn’t place it. It definitely wasn’t her mother.

  “I’m sorry,” Tasia said. “Who is this?”

  “Oh, of course. I didn’t identify myself. It’s Mrs. Campbell. Your mother’s neighbor in—”

  “Miami,” Tasia finished for her. Her stomach clenched. If Mrs. Campbell was calling … “My mother … Is she okay?”

  “I’m here with her now,” Mrs. Campbell said. “She has something she needs to tell you.”

  “I told you not to do this,” Tasia heard her mother say in the background. “Call her at work like this while she’s busy.”

  “Stella, you know you’ve had one excuse after another,” Mrs. Campbell replied. “This call had to be made. Your daughter can’t be in Atlanta without a clue that you need her.”

  Tasia tried to make sense of what she was hearing, but she couldn’t. Maybe her mom was having financial difficulties? It wasn’t like her mother to ever call her at work.

  “Take the phone, Stella. Talk to Tasia.”

  Tasia heard shuffling. And then, “Hello, baby.” Bright, cheerful. As if her mother didn’t have a care in the world.

  But Tasia knew better. Something was up. And she didn’t want to be kept in suspense with niceties. “Mom, what’s going on?”

  “Oh, nothing much, sweetheart. Certainly nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Stella!” Mrs. Campbell admonished in the background. “Tell her.”

  “I was just thinking,” her mother went on, “maybe you could come for a visit. I haven’t seen you in so long …”

  “Mom, your neighbor didn’t call me because you want me to come for a visit. Please just tell me what’s going on.”

  Silence ensued for several seconds. Then, Tasia heard a soft sniffle. There was pain in that sound. Pain that caused a sense of foreboding to wash over her.

  “Mom?” Tasia prompted.

  “Just come home,” Stella said. She sounded vulnerable, broken. “Please.”

  The foreboding turned to dread. Tasia couldn’t hang up without getting answers. Whatever was going on was serious, that much she could ascertain. “Just tell me, Mom. I need to know how bad it is.”

  Tasia heard the intake of breath on the other end of the line. Then her mother said, “I have stage four ovarian cancer. I don’t have long to live. So, baby, please come home. Come home now.”

  *

  I have stage four ovarian cancer.

  The words were a bomb. Because they blew up Tasia’s world.

  She barely slept that night, her brain unable to settle after her mother’s horrible announcement. Her body was so tense that she felt physically ill. Never in her life had she expected to hear the word “cancer” in relation to her mother. And certainly not while her mom was so young.

  I don’t have long to live …<
br />
  No. Tasia hadn’t accepted that when her mother had broken the news to her on the phone last night, and now as she sipped her second cup of coffee to prepare for her drive to Miami, she still couldn’t accept it. Her mother was only fifty-four years old. Tall and slim, she’d always eaten a healthy diet. She didn’t indulge in junk food, even occasionally. She walked every day to stay trim and do her heart good, and she always preached the value of getting enough sleep. By contrast, Tasia worked long hours, ate far too many potato chips, and didn’t work out—unless one counted the running around she did in the kitchen. How could her mother, the epitome of a healthy lifestyle, be dying of cancer at this age?

  But younger people died of cancer, was the thought that popped into Tasia’s head.

  Cancer didn’t discriminate.

  “No,” she said aloud, dropping her head forward and closing her eyes. Her curly hair fell onto her face, and almost angrily she brushed it back. It refused to stay in place, and she marched to her bathroom, where she got a scrunchie and forced her shoulder-length locks into a ponytail. Pausing in front of the mirror, she gazed at her reflection—and saw her mother.

  The same caramel complexion, the same loose curls and shoulder length hair from her mother’s mixed Cuban and Jamaican heritage. Tasia had taken after her mother so much—which was perhaps why she’d tried so hard to not be like her. Her mother had been young, beautiful and vibrant—until her husband had walked out on her.

  The edges of Tasia’s lips twitched as she looked at her reflection, and she bit down on her bottom lip, trying not to cry. Hadn’t her mother already been dealt a crappy hand? Now, after the pain and heartache she’d gone through because of her husband, she’d been diagnosed with cancer?

  Tasia walked out of the bathroom, trying to push that thought from her mind. How could she believe that her mother was going to die soon, when she couldn’t truly believe that she even had cancer? Sure, her mother had told her that she’d gotten a second opinion, that the diagnosis had not been a mistake. But what if things weren’t as bad as they seemed? Cancer treatments had come a long way in recent years. In the hours Tasia had spent on the Internet last night, she’d read success story after success story. Most of them had been in the earlier stages of ovarian cancer—one and two—but there’d been some claims of cures in stage four.